


A Patchwork Family: Pillow Fight

by Lbilover



Series: A Patchwork Family Series [13]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff (Literal), Fluff (Not Literal), Frodo Is Happy, M/M, Personal Favorite, Pillow Fights, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9576302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: The title says it all. :-)





	

Sam first had an inkling that something was amiss when he noticed a few small white feathers floating into the garden through the master bedroom window. Goose down, he judged, watching the delicate feathers twist and turn and wink in the sunlight. Consumed by equal parts curiosity and trepidation, he crossed quickly to the window and stuck his curly head inside.

A startled exclamation escaped him, and no wonder, for it appeared as if a snowstorm had invaded Bag End, a feather snowstorm. Standing in its midst was Frodo. Feathers clung to the soft blue shirt and darker blue-green velvet trousers that Sam so favoured on him, and he appeared to have aged decades since luncheon, for his dark hair was nearly covered in white.

At the sound, Frodo’s eyes flew to Sam’s, and he started guiltily, looking so like a child caught out in mischief that Sam was hard-pressed not to laugh.

‘What happened?’ Sam asked.

‘I was playing tug-of-war with Huan,’ Frodo said. ‘I’m afraid the pillow lost.’ He held up the remains of the pillow. The linen slip hung limply from his hand, and a long rent was visible in the fabric, as if it had split asunder.

‘And where…’ began Sam, meaning to ask where Huan was, and then he saw him on the bed, and this time he simply had to laugh. ‘Oh Huan-lad, you’re a sight and no mistake.’

The little whippet was festooned in goose-down so that he bore an uncanny resemblance to a sheep – a sheep with a long, whip-thin tail and a pointed muzzle.

‘Woof!’ Huan said, as if to prove he was no sheep but a dog, and then he gave a vigorous shake, ridding himself of a portion of the feathers which joined the the others floating around the room.

‘Ah- _choo_!’ Frodo sneezed violently. ‘I’b god fedders up ma node.’

Sam chuckled. ‘I reckon we’d best clear up this lot then.’ He set his hands on the window-ledge, boosted himself up, swung a leg over the sill, and dropped lightly onto the floor in one easy motion. The draft he created as he landed sent more feathers flying and Frodo sneezed again.

‘Sam, dis ib my fald. You don’ hab to hep me.’

Sam fished a handkerchief from his weskit pocket and gave it to Frodo. ‘Just you blow your nose and stop talking nonsense.’

Frodo did blow his nose, rather haughtily, and said with dignity, ‘I never talk nonsense.’

‘Well, you were just then,’ Sam said stubbornly.

‘I was not.’

‘You were so.’

‘Was not.’

‘Were so.’

A not-unpleasant thrill of apprehension shivered through Sam as a wicked sparkle sprang to life in Frodo's expressive blue eyes. Quick as a wink Frodo darted to the bed, picked up one of the remaining pillows and, arms upraised, headed straight for Sam.

Sam covered his head with his arms just as the pillow came whooshing down, hitting him with a muffled thump. Frodo followed that blow with one to Sam’s rump, and Sam bolted. Laughing breathlessly, he ran and grabbed another pillow. Turning in the nick of time to dodge a second blow, he fought back, hitting Frodo on the shoulder, only a light hit, however, for his inborn protectiveness of Frodo restrained him, even though the pillows were plump and soft and unlike to do any harm.

‘Bah, is _that_ the best you can do, Samwise Gamgee?’ Frodo taunted, raising his pillow high over his head. This time it came down square on Sam’s noggin. ‘You hit like my cousin Peony.’

Such an insult was not to be borne. ‘Oh I do, do I? What do you make of this, then?’ Sam’s next hit, to Frodo’s middle, was not so restrained.

‘That’s more like it,’ Frodo approved, grinning. He pushed the tumbled curls (and feathers) off his perspiring brow, and Sam, distracted, stared entranced, marvelling at the changes love and healing had wrought in Frodo, so that he brimmed with life, vigour and merriment.

Too late, Sam realised that he’d chosen the wrong time for wool-gathering. Frodo took immediate advantage and demonstrated that, when it came to pillow fights, he showed no mercy. With a decided _whump_ his pillow hit Sam right in the kisser.

Sam parried with a hit to the side of Frodo’s head, and the fight began in earnest, with both combatants getting in their best shots, or the best they could manage with swirling feathers obscuring their vision, not to mention tears of mirth. Huan jumped down from the bed and danced around them, barking encouragement, though if he favoured one side over the other, it was impossible to say.

The force of their blows lessened as they began to tire, but they kept on, staggering and slipping as they flailed away, both of them nigh helpless with laughter.

Frodo’s pillow was the first to develop a split along the seam of the slip, so that feathers began to escape, but Sam’s pillow didn’t last much longer With each blow the punch-drunk hobbits landed, the seams split further and more and more goose down escaped, so that soon they were standing in feathers up to their ankles, and blinking away and spitting out the soft, clinging down that waseverywhere.

Only when they realised they were hitting each other with nothing more than the empty slips did they finally stop, and stared wide-eyed at the aftermath of their pillow fight. If the bedroom had looked before as if a snowstorm had passed through, now it looked as if it had been a blizzard of several days duration. Goose-down was piled on every available surface, from the dresser to the mantlepiece to the windowsill, and everywhere in between.

‘Oh Sam,’ Frodo said, a hysterical giggle escaping him. ‘Oh Sam. We must be mad! Just look at what we’ve done.’

‘It is a right old mess, and no mistake,’ agreed Sam in the cheerfullest voice imaginable, running his hand through his hair and dislodging several large clumps of feathers that fell down the back of his neck. ‘I reckon my gaffer would have a word or two to say if he could see it, and none of them good.’ He grinned. 'But it was worth it, Frodo. I always wanted to have a pillow fight, a proper one with feather pillows, that is, not straw.'

'Well, you certainly got your wish, Sam,' said Frodo, his voice trembling with laughter.

'So I did,' agreed Sam. To himself he added: _And more, much more_. For the light inside Frodo shone forth clear and strong even in the sun-lit room, and the beauty of it filled his heart with joy. Oh aye, it had been worth it, he thought as he pulled Frodo to him for a somewhat feathery kiss.

'Oh Frodo, I do love you,' he said.

'I lub you, too, Sam,' Frodo said, and sneezed.

~end~


End file.
